


Much More Than Blood

by Khohshekh



Series: Much More Than Blood [1]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Crying, Drug Use, Fights, Fist Fights, Gangs, M/M, Makeup, Mystery, Violence, i'll add more as it goes on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khohshekh/pseuds/Khohshekh
Summary: His friend is in great danger, but who would ever believe him? Is family Much more than Blood?





	1. Prolouge

"911, what's your emergency?"

"911, what's your emergency?"

"What's your location, miss?"

"Help is on the way, please stay put."

Police stations are more hectic than what would be imagined. A woman bawling over the loss of her child. A couple bickering about the car accident they recently got involved in. A prostitute demanding an arrest on a man who gave her coupons as pay. A drunk man with only a library card on him. A drunk teen asking where his keys were. A frightened child awaiting his mother whom will never come back.

Among the chaos, only one was able to fight through to find himself nearing the front desk with an officer occupied with a sobbing girl. "Please, excuse me, 'scuse me, 'scuse me... please! I need help!"

"Excuse me, sir, please wait your turn."

"You don't understand!" He shoved the woman to the side. "It's my friend! He's in danger! I need the police right away!" The officer redirected the strange man to the side, opening up the second window. "Your friend is in danger?" He raised a brow.  
"Yes! He's... he's in jeopardy! This is an emergency!" The man was frantic, out of breath, sweating from the forehead. "I need a professioinal right away!"  
"Uh huh..." The officer behind the countor took a moment to chuckle. 

"I'm being serious! This is a big threat! Here, here..." The man tugged at his coat pockets, emptying a few things onto the countor. A few coins, dollar bils, a small baggie of white dust, and his wallet. Sifting through his wallet, he plucked out a photograph. "Here! This is him, right here!"  
"And... what is your friend's name?"  
"Uh... fuck, his name is--"  
"Sir? Have you been drinking?"  
"What? No! Please, listen to me!"  
"I can smell alcohol on you... and what is in that bag?"  
"It's... nothing! Please, you have to beieve me! He's in trouble, and he could be dead if we dont do something!"

The officer beckoned the man farther to the side. "Identification, please."  
"Fuck, please! You need to go find him! Before he harms himself or someone else!"  
"Sir! Please calm down!"  
"I'm not trying to cause--"  
"Sorry, pal, you're drunk. We'll keep you in overnight?" He reached for his arm, only to have it shoved away. The man panicked, stepping backwards and knocking over a nearby lamp. 

Nearby officers panicked, seizing the strange man. "Sir! Come on, you're going to a holding cell!"  
"NO! Please! I'll piss in a cup! I'm not drunk! I'm telling you the truth, he's in trouble!" With three officers detaining him, the man resisted, yelling about his friend in danger over and over again, causing a scene. Eventually, he was lead into a separate room, then, to a holding cell. 

"Crazy fucking drunks, man" An officer shook his head, ignoring the man's pleads. "Any information on this guy?"  
"His wallet has his driver's liscense. Jordon K. Terrell, age 32, from Los Angeles."  
"California? He's a long way from home."  
"Yeah. That picture he had, of him and his friend, pretty weird."  
"You think his friend is actually in danger?"  
"Hmm, cant say? If he is, he ought to take steps to help himself, Jordon's drunk, what does he know?"  
"I guess you're right."

A knock on the office door. "Chief? There's someone on the phone, claiming they know the crazy man you just took in."  
"A relative? Did Terrell get his phone call?"  
"Not even. He's telling the same story, basically. That he sent Jordon to the police station for help because their friend is in jeopardy and need services right away. He's on his way to the police station right now to speak with you."  
"Does he sound as hysterical as his drunk ass friend?"  
"No, he's serious. Almost... in grief, or in tears? You should consider whoever this person in danger is."

"Uuugh, alright. Send him in as soon as he gets here. What's this fellow's name?"  
"Jorel Decker."  
"Interesting... Sounds familiar." 

"Sir? He just arrived."


	2. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like family is much more than blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look guys! I got a plot! PRAISE ME.  
> Unlike my last series, I'm gonna keep the chapters a little shorter so you don't spend a decade reading this garbage.

There exists no bond greater than that of a family. Weather you believe the proverb of ‘blood is thicker than water’ or not, all of who you are tie within your roots. Your heritage. One thing for sure, family was much more than blood; it’s the people who mold you into the being you are today.

Admittedly, all families fight. 

Considering anything, it could be healthy, or destructive. Arguments could turn to violence, or compromise. It all depends on the giver and receiver. The Undead Family were no different. Just a few guys on the road. Five band members, a cinematographer, and a driver. Because this tour was only a few weeks long, to save money (and possible stress) they decided to drive themselves to save money. Who needed a crew? It was only for a few weeks…

They began a reprise tour beginning in their home state and making their way through the United States to their last destination being Toronto, Canada. Very simple plan. No planes, hotel rooms only when absolutely necessary, and have a kickass tour. 

Phoenix, Arizona. Not even halfway through the tour and tension had begun.

Dylan smoked a lot more. Normally, the guys wouldn’t give two shits, but it had come to the point where his habit was excessive and down right fucking annoying. The stench would make Danny gag, Jordon make fun of him, Danny gets mad, then argues with Dylan and Jorel about hemp.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Jorel!” Danny protested, rubbing his temple with stigma. “I’m saying turn up the vents if you’re going to do that.There’s other people on this bus, ya know?”  
“Why does it bother you anyways? What about the fucking business we’re trying to get into? Do you think that’s bad too?” Jorel shouted across the sitting area.”  
“I never fucking said--”  
“Oh, you don't fucking like it? Jump your happy ass off this bus!” Dylan increased the heat on his bong, taking another hit.”

“All you fuckers are cracking me up.” Jordon chuckled, taking up two seats in the kitchen booth. “You’re fucking helping…” Danny mumbled.  
“Don’t be such a crab. Since when are you a brat anyways? Got some sort of stick up your ass?”  
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Danny’s sudden and improbable outburst threw frowns to everyone’s face. How could sweet Daniel outcry like this? Known for being annoyed and passive, with an unexpected scream like that shut everyone up for the next 30 minutes.

All seemed to disappear after their show. Although, new problems were bound to ascend and multiply. George was fragile. Took Dylan one rude ass drunken comment for him to end up with a bloody nose from George smashing his face against the freezer in anger, and marching off to find a place to hide. Impossible on such a small bus.

Chain events occured. Dylan was a sad sack of shit the rest of the ride to their new destination, and Jorel wouldn’t shut up about George’s “too far” action. “You want a nose to match his? Keep your shit up, Jorel!”

Aggravation. Hostility. Fury. Violence.

Salt Lake City, Utah. Great show, all things considered. After an adorable 11 year old stole the show with his guitar skills on Jorel’s bass, the boy’s hearts were tender once more. With a day off, they decided to separate, find some room, take a breather before returning onto that horrible bus. 

It was very much needed. Activities resumed as normal and nobody was contemplating murder. Another week and things seemed to slowly creep up on everyone again. Denver Colorado, and something just so happened to be there to piss someone off. Whose turn was it this time?

“No fucking way!” Dylan was laughing along with a few girls. Jordon chugged his beer, inching his way into the conversation while Danny was telling a story. 

“So, after he confronted this dude, he fucking pulls out this knife, right? Starts flinging it around like a madman, heh, and uh--” The blond took a moment to laugh, glancing over at Jordon. “Dude? You paying attention?”  
“Yeah… so he got his knife and?”  
“Right, so uh… heheh, ended up making 3 fucking holes in the wall while screaming like a woman and.. Dude? DUDE!” 

Jordon just walked away, marching over to cockblock whatever Dylan had to say to these women. Inching his way into the conversation, he was desperate for any amount of attention that Dylan was getting. “Yeah, dude was scared. No match for the Funny Money.” 

Some gay ass story about him fighting someone that probably never happened to impress a bunch of chicks in their late 20’s. Jordon cleared his throat intentionally loudly, only gaining a bunch of glares. Eventually, the girls were scared away, leaving Dylan annoyed and frustrated. 

“Why you fucking driving girls away like that? I was having fun.”  
“Yeah, with a baby on the way you simply must have fun with a bunch of fucking girls.”  
“Man, fuck you! I see you flirt with fucking girls all the time! Oh but we won't bring up your fucking wife, will we?”  
“I don't fucking flirt!”  
“You do too!”

“HI!” Danny practically threw himself on Jordon as he bumped into the conversation. “So uh… you left me to yell at Dylan?”  
“I didn't leave you, quit being a girl.”  
“Don't you get cocky with him too, Jordon.” Dylan sneered at him. “Fucking ruin all our nights, why don't you?”  
“SO you’re taking his side now, huh? Fuck both of you pussies!”

The presence of three shit moods around will contaminate any pleasant mood, even Jorel’s, going from a happy go lucky guy to a fucking nasty prick.Day after day, any excuse to begin another argument continued. Some were short and petty, though they had days where two or three would brawl. 

Pierre, South Dakota.

The venue’s head manager was laying down a few house rules to the band. No kicking amps, no jumping in the crowd, no doing drugs on stage or in front of audience members. “We’ve had many troubled teens being influenced by shit like that, we don't want bad examples. Just respect the crowd, I’m sure you guys won't have any problem with it, I’m not too worried. We’ve just had assholes in the past.”

“Not a problem.” Jorel shook his hand and they began to walk the stage to set up. “Huge fucking room… kings could have a banquet in here.”  
“True that. Oh, and one more thing, everyone! Attention, please!”

Danny and George pinched at each other playfully, while Dylan slacked behind texting. Jordon quickly withdrew from enjoying the room’s architecture to listen. “Okay, we all wanna have fun, but on a serious note, I wouldn’t advise ANYONE to venture out by themselves, especially at night. For the past few months visiting bands have had members attacked or mugged, sometimes seriously injured, so please be careful, we don't want anyone getting hurt.”

Jorel and Jordon nodded their heads, looking over at the others. “Guys?”  
“Yeah, yeah. Don't go out, do drugs, have a travel buddy.” Dylan didn't even look up from his phone. “Fuck… we’ll be fine, thank you.”

“Okay. Now, I’ll finish your tour, and we can begin setting up the VIP signing. This way, please.”  
“Fucking stop touching me, 3 queer.”  
“I’ll smack that shit out of our mouth, Murillo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll be a shit show for a while, fyi. It's confusing, I know, considering the prologue was "better" than this. It'll get better, hopefully. I promise.


	3. Animosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White masks. Fans, perhaps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want a nice story?  
> You'll get my foot in your ass.

Double show in South Dakota. The venue requested the band have a safe and more tamed show. Stay together, don't go into the alleyways, no smoking or drinking on stage. Straightforward rules for a wildly successful and fun show. The boys were surprised to realize even Jordon was behaving in an exciting and happy matter.

The manager was far from exaggeration when he said there were some strange people stirring about in the alleyways nearby. Of course the band was used to similar activity back home but for a place such as this one something even more upsetting was going on. No wonder they strived to make it a better place for the children around.

What stood out most against stucco brick had to be the mysterious hooded figures stood motionless, staring blankly at one another with pasty white masks. “Fans, maybe?” Danny nervously whispered inside the huddle. “I mean, masks, right?”  
“Uh… yeah. Fans.” Jorel shifted, avoiding eye contact. 

“Mysterious town with mysterious people. Let’s get out of here…” George tugged shirts, urging everyone to leave. Once back to safety, Jorel loudly sighed. “Fucking weird ass people wearing masks like that creep me the fuck out.”  
“I don't think they were fans.” Jordon chuckled. “Anyone notice it's not just the young ones who seem to be fucked up. All kids get influenced by someone, right?”

“Dude the manager’s weird.” Dylan mumbled.  
“Why? Because he wants a good influence into this town? We gotta make a great impression on these kids, y’know?”  
“Not just that. I think he’s… plotting something.” Jorel grunted in disgust. “What?”

“You and your damn conspiracy theories!”  
“Jordon’s the one with the fetish for conspiracies!”  
“Am fucking not!”  
“Dylan’s just fucking paranoid as usual and just loves to suck the fun and fuck rules in the ass!”  
“Can we not fight?” Danny sighed, fishing the bus key from his back pocket. “We need some sleep, alright? I’m taking a piss and headed straight to bed.”

Somehow, in the dead of night, Dylan managed to sneak off the bus to roll a joint and get a little high before returning to bed giggling, waking up George. “The fuck you doing? You been fucking with Mary Jane?”  
“Dude, don't een worry about it.” George massaged his face with twisted frustration, lowering his voice as if he was scolding a child.

“It is 4 in the fucking morning. We were given a simple fucking rule: Cigarettes and shit is fine as long as no ones sees, and no drugs or alcohol!”  
“I took like 2 hits, chill.”  
“Outside the bus?”  
“No, near the venue. I hardly saw anyone but those sideshow freaks.”  
“The guys in the masks?”  
“Yeah… weird ass dudes. They confused me for Danny and I nearly shit myself and left and--”

 

“I’m only gonna repeat this once, Dylan.” George pointed a finger, serious. “Knock your bullshit off for one more goddamn day and quit going out unsupervised without someone with you!”  
“I’m not a child, George! I don't think men in their 30s need travel buddies. I’ll be fine, fuck off!”

Animosity. The second show snuck up quickly and everyone was getting antsy again. What set Jorel off in the first place was the weed smell straight in the morning, shaming Dylan for breaking a simple rule. Second things second, the manager of the venue mentioned Dylan hanging around the white faced cloaks. “Control your friend, please. Those guys are real trouble… I’ve suspected them in the past for being responsible for jumping other bands and beating the fuck out of them. Tried calling the police but there wasn’t enough evidence to back up my theory.”

“You say to me nothing new. I’m very sorry, I will have a discussion with him and it won't happen again.”  
“Please, do. At least at your friend speaking with them. He could get into serious fucking fights.”

Decent show, great fans, crazy drunk guy in audience, and the members being cranky. By the end of the final song, Jorel practically chased Dylan down the halls and into their dressing room, demanding explanation. “I fucking tell you to lay off the weed and what do you do? Disrespect a rule these nice people gave you and smoked not just last night, but BEFORE we went on stage and you couldn't sing properly!”  
“I’m not even that high!” Dylan protested. 

The entire band squeezed into the dressing room, crowding to unwillingly watch this intense argument unfold. “I don't fucking understand it, Dylan. One thing! You had to do one fucking thing! Don't smoke weed or drink while we’re doing our shows!”  
“Uh, so…? Nobody’s around!” Dylan’s filthy grin was enough to fire Jorel up and throw his fists first, shoving Dylan with fury. “How fucking dare you! J Whore!” 

Within moments, the two threw themselves on one another in a huge brawl. Pushing, shoving, hitting, trying to throw the other to the ground. However, it barely took 10 seconds for the others to panic and attempt to break the two apart. Even when separated, the men continued to kick and whirl their hands in the air whilst being restrained. “Fucking bitch! Just follow the rules for once!”  
“I don't have to fucking listen to you!”

“FUCKING QUIT IT!” Jordon and Danny yelled nearly simultaneously. There was a small pause, followed with intense, heavy breathing. “We’re seriously fighting like we’re in second grade?” Danny sounded disappointed. 

“Dude, stay out of it.” Jorel sighed, glaring at the stoner.  
“Right, because you’re in charge of the rest of us, big shot.” Jorel opened his mouth to say something, yet he held it in. Rather than adding fuel to the fire, he merely shook his head, and, bumping Dylan’s shoulder, evacuated the small room, slamming the door behind him. 

“Fucking pussy.”  
“Dylan.” George growled. “I think you know damn well you shouldn't be fucking smoking weed on account of someone else’s order.”  
“Oh, please. Nobody’s gonna do shit, we’re celebrities.”  
“Yeah! People look up to us, what kind of people would develop after seeing their idols doing shit like that?”  
“Theyre fucked up already anyways, George.”  
“Oh my fuck, you are not getting the point here.”

“I think I am, George… you’re fucking sick of me. Fine, I won't fucking smoke kush around you fucks here again! Or ever again as long as some dumbass manager keeps us backstage.”

“You better apologize to not only Jorel, but the owner of the venue. Because not only are you smoking pot, you’re talking to those strange ass people in the alleyway! You may get the fucking police called on you.”

“I aint apologizing for shit.”   
“Dylan…” Danny softly spoke, stopping when he saw Dylan’s eyes flash towards him. “Danny, you shut your pussy ass mouth, because you’re always just a fucking ball of pure sunshine, aren’t you? Well, you’re not! You are a fuck boy! You’re a bitch---”

The sudden shriek of skin being smacked silenced the entire room. George struck Dylan so far across the face he nearly stumbled, long hair tangled in front of his face. He graced his fingers over the sting, pouting his bottom lip. George staggered, “If you do not get your fucking act together i swear to god I’ll beat your ass right fucking here, do you understand, Dylan? You fucking understand me? Knock your shit off! You think I’m playing with you?”

George awaited an answer, only receiving a small nod. A few sly tears escaped from Dylan’s wet eyes, and he suddenly turned and ran out of the room. Jordon and Danny were so shaken up and surprised it was a while before anyone said anything. George began. “Sorry, guys. But this shit has got to stop. We’ve been getting into petty ass fights since day one. We have 3 fucking weeks left of this tour. If this shit persists, we’re gonna end up killing one another.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jordon sighed. “We need to get our heads out of our asses. I’m guilty. Everyone is. What we really need to do is sit down with a couple beers or some shit and patch our fucked up family up.”  
“Yeah…” Danny sighed, sitting down and twiddling his thumbs. “I’m honestly sick of fighting. I feel like shit being both the giver and receiver. I hate the fact that there’s so much hostility and tension between all of us. I love you guys, and I wouldn’t ever want to get into bullshit like what just happened.” 

“Love? Ew, fag.” Jordon snickered, playfully hitting Danny in the shoulder. “Then fuck it. We gotta get Jorel and Dylan and settle this stupid fight. Have a fucking talk or some shit before therapy or Dr. Phil gets their hands on us.”

“I think it’s best we leave the two alone for now.” George simply said. “Dylan was crying, he was very shaken up.”  
“Well… can't blame him, George. That was pretty… frightening and fucked up.”  
“I know. I was just so fucking angry at him and just had to smack sense into him…” George pulled out his phone to check it, sighing. “We’ll worry about them later. For now… I’m sorry guys.”

 

“Yeah, me too.”  
“Um yeah, same here… Gah, I love you fags!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I always half malicious intent for our poor boys?


	4. No, he's not here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen....  
> main reason I've been gone so long? Not doing well. Mentally. I had gotten out of a relationship and my self harm resurfaced so I had to go away for a few days on behalf of mom's orders. And I just... took off for a while. But I'm better now, feel more guilty than ever that I didn't continue this. I know there's someone out there anticipating this. So, this is for you.

"Let's just get the fuck back to the main stage. We're behind on packing our shit up on the bus. Then we can all have a few beers and patch shit up."  
"Sounds great with me."

George swung the backstage door open, holding it for everyone. "Of course it sounds great, you always wanna get drunk." 

"Nevertheless," Danny looked around the empty venue, observing the few staff members cleaning up bottles, red solo cups, and sick. "I have no idea where Jorel or Dylan went... We'll just pick their shit up and hope they make up somehow."  
"Where do you suppose they are?" Jordon packed his bass inside its case.  
"Either blowing off steam, or having an argument. We may have made up, but they didn't. I hope they don't fucking kill each other." 

George only shrugged, snaking cords around his shoulder. "Just let them be for now. They need to collect themselves, they'll come around."

Two hours had passed an neither AWOL member had bothered to show up. Jorel at least had decency to send a text "Went for a walk downtown, be back later" but nothing since had resurfaced. Dylan was either ignoring his phone or left it behind. Even when nighttime had come around, neither had shown up onto the bus.

"Okay... now I'm starting to fucking worry." Danny consistently checked the windows in hopes he would see one, or even both, return safely to the bus. As tired as he was, he refused to get to sleep unless he got some sort of sign they were back. "I mean... it's 2 am. Where the fuck are we?"

"Should we start looking?" Jordon was not one to panic. But it was well past midnight, and not a sign of either of them.

"Well... I'll try Dylan's phone again. If we don't get answers, we need to get out there at least."  
"I say we split up." Jordon began, "Search downtown, and--"  
"We cant split up." Danny protested. "People, band members, have been going missing around here lately, remember what the dude was saying?"

Realization hit everyone so suddenly like a ton of bricks. "That's right... he told us to never go out anywhere alone... its fucking 2 am and neither of them are answering their phones... If something happened to them..." Everyone started panicking, screaming at once.  
"Shit! Should we call the police?"  
"We cant call them unless its been 24 hours, right?"  
"So? If they were kidnapped--"  
"We don't know that though, they could be fine, just stupid and--"  
"They're lost in a strange unfamiliar place!"  
"What if they're dead?"

"Alright, guys, calm down!" Danny hollered. "For fucks sake, don't start getting antsy again. We need to get out there and search around together, but if they aren't back by dawn, we're getting help."  
"Fine but... what if something did happen, and we waited that long... and were too late?" Jordon mumbled with a shiver, checking his phone in desperation that either of them had texted serenity back to him. "Don't... don't say shit like that... wait, shh!"

A hush flew over, and the trio listened intensely, realizing there were sounds of heavy footsteps against gravel. "Is that...?!" Danny leaped towards the window, gasping dramatically. "Its J!" He practically flew from the booth, racing towards the door like an eager child awaiting a parent from a long day at work. When Jorel opened the door, casually picking at the dirt beneath his nails, he wasn't suspecting an eager tight hug from Danny, and heavy sighs of relief from the trio he left behind. "The fuck, you guys?"  
"Where the hell have you been?" George's mood escalated from relieved to hellishly angry within seconds. "Do you have any idea how fucking worried we were about you?"  
"Damn, you sound like my mother, George." Jorel shut the door, chuckling. 

"It isn't fucking funny!" 

Jorel let go of his remaining thoughts, tossing his hands in the air. "Okay, you got me, what?"  
"Fucking hell, Jorel! It's 2 in the fucking morning, you don't bother answering your phone or returning calls from a foreign neighborhood that's notorious for unknown people kidnapping fucking band members like you!"  
"I had a knife on me... and my phone was already like 20% when I left, I told you where I was going, and--"  
"I dont care if you had the power of Christ himself inside of you! How could you be so fucking ignorant? You have any idea..."

"George, wait a minute..." Jordon interrupted. "Jorel is here, now where's Dylan?"

Silence flew over everyone. Jorel fell into confusion once again. "Did he not come back?"  
"No." Danny glanced at him." After you left, George kinda got angry at him as well, and he also took off. He hasn't been answering his phone at all, never told us where he went. We were hoping he was with you."  
"I haven't seen him..." Jorel peered across the room at the blank, concerned faces. "He seriously hasn't even shown up or texted you guys anything?"  
"No... not a single message or sign from him."

After another moment, Jorel suddenly gasped in realization. "What? What is it?"   
"Remember those people with the white masks outside the concert?"  
"... what about them?"  
"They aren't fans. They're... well, I dont really know what they are but they're shady people. Asked me to borrow my phone, and tried getting me into their car like I was a child about to be kidnapped... According to a homeless guy I had a talk with, they're always there when someone goes missing... They were right there before I left, and when I came back, they mysteriously vanished, along with their van."

"They could have Dylan!" Danny quickly searched his bunk for his pocket knife. "Dan, wait! The fuck you think you're doing?"  
"Dylan might have been kidnapped!"  
"First of all, he's a grown man. We dont know who these people are, or what they do. We have to find those assholes first and maybe we can find Dylan!"

The frantic search began. The group split in two, cautiously navigating the streets calling for Dylan to answer them. When it came time to meet up, it was nearly 6 in the morning. "Judging by the looks on your guys' faces, you didn't find him either."  
"Not exactly..." George rubbed his temple. "We've heard talk around though, that those people are rumored to be part of a cult of some sort? Nobody really knows, they're such a mystery."

"Well, me and Danny called up the venue's owner. He said if they do have him... we don't have very long before he could end up dead."  
"DEAD?!"  
"Listen! IF they did take him, bad shit will happen... We need to get to the police station. Jordon, get to the station and tell them that he's in trouble, right now, we need to find their van or some shit and prepare for hell.”

+=+=+=+=+=

Police stations are more hectic than what would be imagined. A woman bawling over the loss of her child. A couple bickering about the car accident they recently got involved in. A prostitute demanding an arrest on a man who gave her coupons as pay. A drunk man with only a library card on him. A drunk teen asking where his keys were. A frightened child awaiting his mother whom will never come back.

Among the chaos, only one was able to fight through to find himself nearing the front desk with an officer occupied with a sobbing girl. "Please, excuse me, 'scuse me, 'scuse me... please! I need help!"  
"Excuse me, sir, please wait your turn."  
"You don't understand!" Jordon shoved the woman to the side. "It's my friend! He's in danger! I need the police right away!" The officer redirected the strange man to the side, opening up the second window. "Your friend is in danger?" He raised a brow.  
"Yes! He's... he's in jeopardy! This is an emergency!" Jordon was sweating from the race there, out of breath, beads of sweat resting on his forehead. "I need a professional right away!"

"Uh huh..." The officer behind the counter took a moment to chuckle.  
"I'm being serious! This is a big threat! Here, here..." Jordon tugged at his coat pockets, emptying a few things onto the counter. A few coins, dollar bills, his wallet. He knew he had a photo of the boys somewhere. He plucked out one of him and Randi, then of the band, hovering it for the officer to observe. With a single digit, the pointed at Dylan’s face. “Here, this is him.”

"And... what is your friend's name?"  
"Uh... fuck, his name is--"   
"Sir? Have you been drinking?" Jordon was interrupted before he could get the first letter out.  
"What? No! Please, listen to me!"  
"I can smell alcohol on you... and what is in that bag?"  
"It's... nothing! Please, you have to believe me! He's in trouble, and he could be dead if we don't do something!"  
The officer beckoned Jordon further to the side. "Identification, please."  
"Fuck, please! You need to go find him! Before he harms himself or someone else!"  
"Sir! Please calm down!"  
"I'm not trying to cause--"

"Sorry, pal, you're drunk. We'll keep you in overnight?" He reached for his arm, only to have it shoved away. Jordon started to panic at the sudden gesture, stepping backwards and accidentally knocking over a nearby lamp.  
Nearby officers panicked, seizing the Jordon like he was a heist operator. "Sir! Come on, you're going to a holding cell!"

"NO! Please! I'll piss in a cup! I'm not drunk! I'm telling you the truth, he's in trouble!" With three officers detaining him, Jordon regrettably resisted, yelling about his friend in danger over and over again, causing a scene. Eventually, he was lead into a separate room, then, to a holding cell.  
"Crazy fucking drunks, man" An officer shook his head, ignoring the man's pleads. "Any information on this guy?"

"His wallet has his driver's license. Jordon K. Terrell, age 32, from Los Angeles."  
"California? He's a long way from home."  
"Yeah. That picture he had, of him and his friend, pretty weird."  
"You think his friend is actually in danger?"  
"Hmm, can't say? If he is, he ought to take steps to help himself, Jordon's drunk, what does he know?"  
"I guess you're right."

A knock on the office door. "Chief? There's someone on the phone, claiming they know the crazy man you just took in."  
"A relative? Did Terrell get his phone call?"  
"Not even. He's telling the same story, basically. That he sent Jordon to the police station for help because their friend is in jeopardy and need services right away. He's on his way to the police station right now to speak with you."  
"Does he sound as hysterical as his drunk ass friend?"  
"No, he's serious. Almost... in grief, or in tears? You should consider whoever this person in danger is."  
"Uuugh, alright. Send him in as soon as he gets here. What's this fellow's name?"  
"Jorel Decker."  
"Interesting... Sounds familiar."  
"Sir? He just arrived."


End file.
